Alas, poor daquiri … I hardly knew thee

After surgery, I’ll have to forgo alcohol for probably a year or more. Beer is out of the question in the future, as I won’t be allowed to drink carbonated beverages of any type. But wine should be OK, as long as I drink it before I start eating. And cocktails will be back on the menu.

I know cocktails aren’t manly, but I quite like them. The best ones have complex flavors that transform the taste of the liquor used. I’m very particular about what I drink — I always opt for rum or vodka, and avoid anything with tequila as if it were tainted with the bubonic plague. Bourbon and whiskey are OK, but not my favorites.

I don’t recall what this is called, but it’s a very old recipe and the rose-shaped lemon peel is quite cool

This weekend, the Complementary Spouse and I enjoyed a few cocktails at Ciro’s, a local restaurant that replicates the experience of visiting a speakeasy in the 1920s. There’s a heavy door, and you’re asked for a password which changes every day (Footnote 1). The restaurant is dark, and instead of tables there are secluded booths. The only anachronistic thing was the music, which was from the ‘60s.

Ciro’s cocktail menu is extensive, and next to each drink there’s a verbose description and the date the cocktail was invented. My first cocktail was a rum drink that dates from the 1930s. The second was a pisco sour — I don’t recall when that was invented, but I do know Chileans and Peruvians argue over who made it first. (I first encountered it in Chile, so I’ll side with the Chileans for now).

A pisco sour. It’s so delicious that it’s practically glowing.

I don’t know if I’ll have an opportunity for another cocktail before my surgery. If not, I’ll miss you fun little drinks. Eventually, we’ll become friends again.

Footnote:
1. It was “night owl” when we went.

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